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In The Grey	By : LadyJanelly Category: A through F > Forgotten Realms Views: 4744 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own the Forgotten Realms series, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-In The Grey
- 2-The touch of hate
- 3-Follow me down
- 4-Into the black
- 5-Clash
- 6-Fall
- 7-Touch
- 8-useless
- 9-whore
- 10-Scar
- 11-Air
- 12-Comfort
- 13-Fresh Air
- 5
- 6
- 7
Harder! Faster! Deeper! Nothing mattered but the feel of steel sliding into flesh, the face of the young soldier, his dead eyes staring off down the passageway as the warmth of his blood ever-so-slowly fled from his skin, the feel of his lithe body between Drizzt's knees.

Pressure built up behind his eyes, in his chest, in the pit of his stomach. If he could just push harder, faster, deeper, there would be relief, would be peace. Someone was shouting his name, but it did not matter. A little more, and he would forget about Dantrag for a moment, he would be in control for a moment. Blood slicked the handle of the dagger, and he held it with both hands, relishing the resistance of skin and muscle against the blade, the way he had to angle each thrust up to go deep underneath the ribs instead of clashing against them. His panting was harsh. So close...

Right behind his head there was a sharp "ping” of metal hitting metal. A body crashed into his, sending him sprawling from his prey. An avalanche of anger rolled through him, and he hit the interloper hard, tackling him to the ground. A silver arrow split the air above them. He struck the assassin across the face with his fist then rolled him over onto his stomach. There he pinned him to the ground with one hand gripping hard into his hair, the other hand holding one arm behind Entreri's back.

The sense of power returned; warming him, strengthening him. Entreri struggled beneath him, his slender body twisting as he fought for his freedom. So slender...so like an elf...

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He caught the tiny crossbow bolt on the flat of his sword, deflecting it away. In the process he crashed into the ranger, and they both fell, only to rise again half a heartbeat later.

No one could be this fast, he thought, as the blood-slicked fist struck him, and he found himself face-down and helpless on the rough slate of the passageway. His mouth opened in pain as his shoulder was wrenched back, but no sound slipped from his lips. He knew when to stop struggling, and lay still but tense as the drow leaned low over him. He felt more than heard the soft inhale of breath as Drizzt pressed his face to Entreri's hair and breathed in the scent of his pain, his adrenaline. Strong knees gripped his hips, and desperation rose in his throat. It was too much; it had been too long since he had been so vulnerable.

And then he felt a shift in his mind, similar to the disconnect that took place when he began to work, but deeper, stronger. It didn’t matter. None of it mattered. He felt safe, or as safe as he ever did. The only thing at risk was his body, and if he could be in control, he would risk his flesh to save the walls that kept his soul whole.

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"Do it." Entreri hissed under him. "Do it or get away from me." The human shifted his hips, and Drizzt increased the pressure on the captured wrist. The assassin's face twisted with pain, and Drizzt watched, fascinated by the sense of power.

"Drizzt," Catti-brie was calling him as she moved closer. "Drizzt, let him up."

Entreri didn’t respond to her, and to Drizzt she was too separate from this, from his need for release, for him to bother listening to her.

"Drizzt, ye're hurtin' him." Desperation was growing in her voice, yet it seemed so far away, so distant, even as he felt the tendons of the assassin's wrist twisted almost to the breaking point. The hair gripped in his other hand was damp with sweat, yet still soft between Drizzt's fingers. It distracted him for a moment, and his grip on the imprisoned wrist loosened enough for the assassin to take a breath.

His breath caught again as pain shot through his arm and shoulder. Drizzt watched impassively at the reactions to the pain he was causing. Everything was so sharp, so real; the warmth of the assassin's body between his knees, every wince and grimace on his fine-boned face.

Catti-brie crouched in front of him, trying to make him see her, but she wouldn’t touch him. Her hand hovered a thumb's width from his elbow and still he ignored her.

Power... Drizzt released the wrist in his grip, but kept the handful of hair. Entreri didn’t try to rise. Power. The smell of sweat and blood and fear was almost intoxicating. The only sound in the barren tunnels was the sounds of their breathing. Entreri's was coming in harsh, desperate gasps sucked through his teeth. Catti-brie's carried her distress; shallow and trembling and uncertain. Drizzt's own breaths were deep, hungry for life, for freedom, for release.

Again, the woman's voice broke the quiet. "Drizzt, ye need to be callin' Guen."

He frowned at her, distracted from his prisoner for the first time. A dark light flashed in his lavender eyes.

"She's hurt. She has to rest." He could not call Guenhyvar, could not let her see him like this; out of control, dark. Drow. To have the oldest of his friends lose her love for him was the last thing he could not bear. It took all of his willpower, but he opened his hand, let the soft dark strands fall free. He stood, and that was easier; took the first step away from Entreri, and felt more himself, more in control of his unnamed desires.

Catti-brie took a step away from him, and he saw fear in her eyes. Pain stabbed him anew, though he could not speak, knowing he had deserved that look. Entreri rolled over and stretched his neck and shoulder, checking himself for injury.

When the assassin seemed well, Drizzt offered him a hand, and pulled him to his feet.

"Strip the bodies of anything we can use," Entreri said to no one in particular, and all three began searching the corpses for food, water-skins, clean cloths and potions. No eye contact was made between them, and none of them touched the body Drizzt had so thoroughly mangled.
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In The Grey